


butchered for a roman holiday

by coricomile



Series: Video pre-canons [2]
Category: Bandom, Centuries (Music Video), Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Gen, Pre-Canon, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Think of the battle ahead and nothing else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	butchered for a roman holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Because someone had to do it.
> 
> This website is an interesting read on the politics of gladiators: http://lifeofthegladiator.wordpress.com/

Peter misses the sun. The room they’ve been crammed into is small and dark, damp in the corners and frozen in the center. They huddle for warmth at night, a tangle of arms and legs and awful smelling skin, but the chill never leaves them. 

His master had sold them weeks ago in a fit of rage. He can still feel the angry lashes against his back healing into thick, uneven scars. The skin of his knuckles ache, but the bones beneath don't seem to be broken. 

"Stop fussing," Patrick tells him softly. Peter can feel him shivering where they're pressed together shoulder to thigh. Their robes are nothing more than a show for modesty. If one of them falls ill, all of them will in a short time. 

"I can’t," Peter replies. He stares at the grate above their heads and wishes for light. Warmth. 

"Think of the battle ahead, and nothing else." Patrick touches his knee, fingers freezing and misshapen, and squeezes as best he can. 

He and Joseph had been caught in the crosshairs of Peter and Andrew’s punishment. The easiest way to hurt them was to hurt the ones they loved. In the dark, Peter can see the hammer falling across the back of Patrick’s hand, can see the way he curled into himself and screamed. He can see Joseph’s head tied back against a board, his throat gone red under the rope tied around it. 

"We won't make it out alive," Peter says. He touches the dirty curl of Joseph's hair and remembers them as merely boys, shaking and sore at the back of a villa. Their lives were not fortuitous, but they made themselves happy as best they could. 

"That isn't the battle," Patrick says. He presses his forehead to Peter’s. It’s a comforting gesture, but Peter’s mind will not be comforted. His face is merely a shadow. Peter wants to see him again in the sun. 

“We’re at a disadvantage,” Peter says. Patrick laughs. It’s a short, bark of a sound, but there is still humor inside it. 

“Even if we weren’t, this is not meant to be a fair battle. You know that.” He presses his dry, chapped lips to Peter’s forehead and pulls away. “Sleep, or you’ll catch sick.” Peter curls himself around Joseph and tries. His heart is already sick. It is only natural for the rest of his body to follow.

The sound of the grate being moved above them wakes Peter. 

He jerks, waking Joseph with him. There is still not enough light, but he can see shadows around the edge of the hole looking down onto them. Their time has come. He does not know if he should be grateful for the end of their suffering or afraid.

Joseph wakes Andrew, and Andrew wakes Patrick. Their knees and elbows groan and creak as the four of them stand. A rope lowers slowly into their pit, thick with knots. Andrew is the first to grab it. He climbs out, and Peter follows.

In the hall of their jail, Patrick grabs the back of Peter’s neck and squeezes. His hand is shaking. His face is pale and drawn, but he smiles. He has thought of the battle and nothing else. If they survive, there will be another. If they don’t-

Heaven help them if they don’t.

Four keepers grab each of them by the arm. Pain shoots hot and sharp into Peter’s wrist, and Joseph stumbles even though he has not yet been moved. Andrew steadies him with his free hand. The burns on his arms look raw and red. Infected. If the warrior doesn’t kill them, something smaller and more insidious will. 

“This is not the end, friends,” Patrick says, even as his keeper begins to haul him away. They will clean him and dress him and perhaps feed him his last meal. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Peter calls. His keeper yanks him away, but he fights against him. “I swear, I’m holding you to that.” The keeper lands one solid blow into the soft space between Peter’s ribs, and Peter lets himself be carried away. 

If they cannot be together in life, they will find themselves together in death. Peter knows this to be true.


End file.
